


bored in british literature

by rosielibrary



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: College, Dorkiness, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-06 23:46:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16842865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosielibrary/pseuds/rosielibrary





	bored in british literature

Of all the classes Stanford Pines has taken— and that’s a great many, due to his intelligence and overall dorkiness— there is nothing he can’t wrap his head around when it comes to academia.

Except… This class he’s falling asleep in.

“The lady is dressed in black, representing her mourning… Wait, she only has a black veil. She’s wearing white, representing purity. And she has a goat— no, wait, a lamb… Virtuous and pure… And then there’s the dwarf bringing up the rear…”

As much as Ford assumes people love English classes, he can’t help but be bored. Analyzing literature has never been his strong point; where science has one right answer, English has no _wrong_ answers. Anyone can “interpret” it how they please and that disconcerts him, he thinks as he stares down at the page of text in front of him.

He glances around the room to examine the other students. Several near the front were intently listening to this bumbling professor stumble their way through Spenser’s text, while more near the back were falling asleep. Ford’s eye falls upon one student in the row across from him, directly across the way, who looks as confused as he does. He stares at this person for a while, suddenly transfixed by them — more transfixed than he was on the _Faerie Queene_ , anyway.

He’s staring at you. You can feel it out the corner of your eye but you try not to pay attention, despite how local genius (and quiet nerdy heartthrob of your sixteenth century British literature class– with six fingers on each hand?? That’s _gotta_ be someone’s somethin’), Stanford Pines is staring at you. You feel yourself fidget, but he doesn’t turn away. He’s practically studying you at this point.

Ford watches you, unaware that you’re well-known of his stuck eye on your form. The bend of your elbow, how you’re fidgeting in your seat (because he’s staring at you what the hell Stanford). How you pick at your nails by filing under each nail with another finger, and how… wait a second.

How you’re hiding a much more interesting-looking book between the pages of the class’s textbook. Now that’s intuitive.

You eventually can’t take it and meet Ford’s eye. As soon as you make eye contact you feel yourself blush bright red— and he does too, embarrassed that he got caught. He smiles sheepishly and nods at your book, a brow arched.

Thankfully understanding his silent question, you save your place with your thumb and show him the cover. He recognizes it but shrugs as if to say he’s never read it before. Since you can’t really think of any more charade-ish body language to continue the conversation, you tear a sheet of paper from your notebook and write your response on it instead.

“you can borrow it from me when i finish if you’d like!”

The paper lands on his desk and he quirks a brow at it, flipping it around to read your response. He smiles (have you ever seen him smile in this class?) and pulls out a pen to reply.

“I might very well take you up on that offer. I’m Stanford, by the way! Stanford Pines.”

You read his reply and nod, writing your name and “pleased to meet you” on your response. The two of you pass notes back and forth until the class ends. He waits as you gather your stuff together into your backpack, and you walk out the classroom together.

“How is it so far? The book, I️ mean,” Stanford asks, shouldering his messenger bag.

“It’s good, actually,” you reply. “I’ve been more into murder mysteries recently since I’ve been taking an author-centric class for Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, but this one’s good, too.”

“Never really been a novel-reader myself.” Stanford rubs the back of his neck, shrugging. “I️ find the books I️ read for my studies far more interesting. Science is my specialty.”

“I know.”

The words slip out of your mouth before you realize how damn creepy that sounds. Stanford is staring at you wide-eyed, a tint of pink across his cheeks.

“I-I mean—!! I mean I heard about you! From my physics professor. He told me you’re— that you’re one of the brightest in the class.”

Stanford puffs out his chest a little, obviously flattered.

“Well, yes. In all honesty, I am.”

Show-off.

“But, uh— I’m really only good at that. Trying to read old English or poetry for our class— It’s like a whole other language.”

Stanford looks dejected, turning his English textbook over in his hands. You know you have to cheer this boy up immediately.

“I mean, I feel the same way about physics. Sort of. I understand it fairly well, but I leave all my assignments ’til the last minute and I get the formulas mixed up, and… Yeah.”

The two of you reach the outside of the science building and stand around, trying to fill the silence.

“Well… we could study together.”

Stanford’s suggestion snaps your head back up to meet his eye, and you think your face might be as red as his.

“I-If you want to, anyway! Er… I could use the help with— with this stuff… and I can help you with getting your assignments done in time. I usually do my homework the night it’s assigned.”

Again, show-off. But he has that studying dynamic you could really benefit from…

“I’d like that.” You nod at him, and Stanford beams.

“Really? That’s great! Well, um— Can I have your… phone… number…?”

His sentence trails off and he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. Even while being a total dweeb, this guy is ridiculously cute.

“Of course, Stanford. Give me a sec—“

“Oh, just Ford, really—“

Your words coincide and you both laugh, smiling warmly at each other. Tearing a sheet of paper from your trapper-keeper and ripping it in half, you scribble down your phone number on one sheet and hand the other half and your pen to Ford.

“I’d like yours too, i-if you don’t mind. In case I want to call first or ask a question or— something.”

That “something” makes Ford jolt, but you decide it must just be the November chill. Not that he’d think you two were gonna, what, _hang out_ outside of _studying?_

Impossible. Not even plausible. Maybe. Wait he’s handing the paper back—

“Oh, er, thank you,” you stammer, stuffing the paper in your backpack.

“I’ll call you,” Ford confirms. “Unless you wanted to first, anyway. Uh—“

“No, no, you can first.” You smile at him. “I’d like for you to. Make sure you can read my handwriting and everything.”

“Yes, of course.”

Ford pauses, pressing his lips together.

“You, ah… You have lovely handwriting. Just like you.”

_Wait—_

Ford looks terrified for a hot moment before pushing his glasses up his nose and stuttering in surprise.

“So I’ll call you tomorrow morning and we can set up a study date—APPOINTMENT— okay sounds good nice bye!”

Ford disappears into the science building before you can even register what he said. _Lovely._ You don’t think you’ve heard that adjective since you made your way through _Pride and Prejudice._

You must’ve heard him wrong, you decide, patting the pocket with his phone number in it and walking towards the bus stop.

— — — — —

Ford, true to his word, calls the next morning while you’re making breakfast.

“Hello?”

“Uh, hi! Yes, is this … It’s Stanford. Or Ford. Pines.”

You nearly spill your drink when his voice rings through, but manage to catch it before you scald yourself with a solid burn.

“Oh, Ford! Hi, you got the right number! How are you?”

“I’m– I’m doing well, thank you. And yourself?”

You smile as you take a sip of tea.

“I’m good. Just having breakfast.”

You hear a crunch on the other end of the line– seems like Ford is having breakfast as well. The two of you chat for a bit over your respective meals and you find he’s a lot more confident over the phone than he is in person. Eventually you do get back to the topic of school and you can tell Ford is figuring out how to ask you about your study da–”appointment”. Not a date. _Appointment._

“What time works for you?”

“What– What time?”

“Yeah, what time,” you repeat, your thumb rubbing along the rim of your teacup. “For our studying appointment, as you called it.”

“Oh, yes! Of course, right. Let me see…” Ford goes quiet for a moment, checking times and schedules. You hear him humming faintly through the receiver.

“I can be ready for eleven. Is that suitable for you as well?”

It’s ten. You have an hour– shit.

“Yeah, that’s perfect! Where would you want to meet up?” You stretch the phone cord as far as it’ll go to put your mug in the sink and you start trying to fix at your hair.

“There’s a coffee place on campus that isn’t too far off–”

The bus takes ten minutes to get to campus, leaving with you with fifty minutes.

“I think it’s about five minutes from the liberal arts building.”

That’s ten more minutes from the bus stop, plus the five to the actual shop… You’re down fifteen more. You have half an hour. Fabulous.

“That’s great! I’ll meet you there at eleven-ish. Okay bye–!”

The phone slams the receiver on the wall and promptly falls off as you run to the bathroom to brush your teeth and get dressed in record timing. Of course, you have to run to the bus, but you do just about every morning, so it’s not a surprise.

It’s 11:05 when the bell at the top of the coffee shop door dings, and you glance around the small room for Ford. You don’t catch his eye, but as you’re headed to the register to order a drink, you spot him hunched over a table with his large, aquiline nose stuck in a book. You can’t quite make out the title until his hand shifts– _Your Friend the Mothman._

Of course.

You order another drink before you sit across from Ford and tap the top of his book. He glances at you from above his glasses, does a double-take, and then promptly fumbles, nearly dropping his book and his cup of coffee.

“Oh, I-I didn’t see you come in! How unsociable I must have looked…”

“No, no worries! I didn’t want to disturb you and, uh, the Mothman.” You grin at him before taking a mouthful of your drink. It’s still hot… But you swallow through the pain.

“Ah, yes.” Ford’s demeanor shifts. The awkward nerdiness disappears and he sits up, straightens his sweater vest, and smiles at you.

Your hands are sweaty around your cup.

“Mothman… an enigma wrapped in a cloak of, predictably, moths. A cryptid, naturally. He’s hiding somewhere in the Pacific Northwest– right here– but a bit south. Somewhere in Oregon.”

Ford goes deep into thought for a moment before snapping out of it.

“But that’s not what we’re here for, is it? Shall we get started?”

And the study date– APPOINTMENT– begins. The two of you crack into the physics homework first, and Ford manages to assist in figuring out how to remember when the homework is supposed to be done and when to actually do it. Somehow he manages to remember when all his homework is due without a planner, but he lightly tells you to invest in one. Fast.

Once you get to the _Faerie Queene_ analysis, you realize that sitting across from each other would prove reading to be difficult. You move around to Ford’s side of the table and you sit together with the book between you. It’s distracting, to say the least– Ford’s only a few inches away from you and you can feel his leg brush against yours. Neither of you go to move, though.

“I… I can’t really see…”

You scoot your chair closer until the two of you are near enough sharing the same space. Ford sucks in a breath, nodding.

“Can you– Can you read it now?”

“Hmm… Yeah, I got it. You ready?”

Ford nods once more and the silence becomes comfortable again. You both settle in to read, occasionally making comments on the ridiculous Olde English language or trying to understand what’s going on in the story. At one point, Ford references a specific line, but you scan the pages in front of you with your finger, unable to find it.

“I don’t know what you’re–”

“Oh, um, here.”

Ford gently takes your hand and drags it to the other page, pointing your finger to the line he referenced. The air between you feels heavy.

“I–I figured it was easier to show you like… that.”

“I’m glad you did.”

You both catch each other’s eye and smile bashfully before continuing with the rest of the third canto. Once you finish the section, Ford carefully closes the book and slides it into his bag. You return the mug to the register and gather up your physics homework to put back in your trapper-keeper.

“I’m sorry I have to leave so quickly– I have a meeting for the anthropology club later today that I can’t miss,” Ford says guiltily, running a hand through his messy hair.

“It’s alright, don’t worry about it. I’m glad we got most of the stuff done, y’know?” You follow him out the door of the coffee shop and stand outside.

“Me too, yes. I finally understand some of the _Faerie Queene_ , if not all of it,” Ford laughs.

“That just means we’re going to need to meet up for more studying… appointments.” You grin at him, newfound confidence after your successful “appointment” making you revel in his blushy cheeks.

“Ah, mhm. Yes. We— We definitely should.” Ford pushes his glasses up his nose and smiles, obviously rather surprised at your sudden forwardness.

“And y’know…” You take a step towards him and tilt your head to the side. “We don’t have to meet up just for studying. We can just hang out. If you’d like.”

Ford raises both brows and his mouth opens a little in shock, but he regains his composure and tries to act “cool”.

As cool as Stanford Pines, who sang his high praises about the Mothman earlier, could be, anyway.

“Ah, yes. I think that would be… Fun.” He grins, pulling the strap of his bag closer. “Well, I have to– go– anthropology. And whatnot. Yes. Goodbye for now, then.”

A frazzled Ford fixes at his hair and nods at you formally before turning and walking towards campus, and you shout “Call me!” at his retreating form.

He trips over his own feet and turns around to make sure you didn’t see. You totally saw. He tries to laugh it off and then scurries off to his meeting.


End file.
